


Infiltration

by ForgottenKnight



Category: Dragon Age (Video Games), Dragon Age: Inquisition
Genre: Established Relationship, F/M, Fluff, Fluff and Smut, Porn With Plot, Porn with Feelings, Romance, The Winter Palace (Dragon Age)
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-09-24
Updated: 2019-09-24
Packaged: 2020-10-27 15:37:22
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,599
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20762747
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ForgottenKnight/pseuds/ForgottenKnight
Summary: Even while searching for a cure to the Calling, news that King Alistair will be attending Celene’s masquerade reaches Attilyn Cousland. She doesn’t pass up the opportunity to surprise her husband by sneaking herself into the Winter Palace right through the front gate.





	Infiltration

Attilyn made sure her ornate golden mask was in place, adjusted the pins in her long brown hair, and took a deep breath to steel herself. She felt as though she were walking into enemy territory. In a way she supposed she was; the queen of Ferelden simply strolling through the front gates of the Winter Palace unannounced and wearing a mask could technically count as an invasion of sorts. Her husband had at least been invited according to her sources. 

She smiled cordially at the guards, easily playing the part of excited guest. Attilyn had traveled all over Ferelden, defeated an Archdemon and saved Thedas from the Blight, but despite her formal upbringing she still felt unprepared to handle the Game of Orlais. She hoped she didn’t stand out. Her lavish red silk dress was doing wonders for her figure and she tried not to look down too much; the shoulder-less dress’s plummeting neckline wasn’t something she was accustomed to. She should’ve had Leliana give her a makeover one of those nights at camp. 

Looking around, Attilyn wove her way through groups of people. She grabbed a glass of wine from a nearby table and took a sip as she surveyed the room. She had never seen a palace so grand in all her life. Orlais always went a bit overboard in her opinion, but that didn’t mean the giant chandeliers, intricate woodwork and splendid architecture weren’t impressive. 

She was looking for Alistair. She’d heard he was invited and that he’d probably make an appearance, but she wasn’t sure. He didn’t have much tolerance for Orlais or their politics. Neither did she, though her parents’ lessons throughout her early life had taught her how to handle such political matters better than Alistair. Attilyn had done everything she could to help Alistair with his transition into becoming King, but with her off looking for a cure to the Calling he’d be on his own to make decisions. She trusted him to do so and to do it well, but that didn’t mean she wasn’t worried. 

Attilyn nearly choked on her wine when she caught sight of Alistair standing by a railing across the room. His fur lined tunic fit him well, his sandy hair was styled out of his eyes, and she could see even from where she was standing that he had grown his beard more since she’d last seen him. She smiled despite herself: he looked bored out of his mind. He didn’t notice her which was good since she wanted to surprise him. Several people were standing around him trying to talk to him. He was responding between sips- probably gulps- of his own drink and Attilyn could only imagine what he was saying. Leliana was a better lip reader than she was. 

Attilyn tore her eyes from Alistair and looked around some more. The Inquisitor had been invited tonight. Perhaps she’d be able to meet the acclaimed mage. If the Inquisitor was here then perhaps Leliana was too. The thought made a familiar ache thrum in Attilyn’s chest. She knew the feeling well; it came on whenever she thought of her husband or any of the people she’d gone through the Blight with. Maker, she missed them. She even missed Shale who had called her “It” for most of their time together. 

Attilyn took a bolstering sip of her drink and made her way to where Alistair was standing. Despite her overwhelming desire to rush over to him, she took her time, making sure to stop at a few tables to sample what food was there to appear natural. When she glanced back over to her husband a persistent redhead had a hand on his arm and an overly friendly smile on her masked face. Attilyn pursed her lips and moved away from the table. She twisted her wedding band on her finger with her thumb as she approached Alistair and the woman. Looking down at the dance floor and watching the beautiful couples, Attilyn leaned against the polished railing.

Alistair was only a few feet away to her left. She could hear him talking to the woman and she relaxed at the tone of his voice. 

“Our engagement was anything but ordinary. I was standing there, my sword still covered with blood, and _ my wife _ simply announced that she would rule by my side,” Alistair said shaking his head. 

The memory and his inflection made Attilyn smile. She took another sip of wine to hide it.

“The look on my face must’ve been absolutely _ priceless _.”

It had been. He sounded so wistful telling the story. Attilyn easily remembered that day. She had no regrets about the decision she made during the Landsmeet, though she couldn’t forget the look on Anora’s face when Alistair cut her father down in front of her. 

“Your wife sounds very…” the woman hesitated looking for the right word. 

“Wonderful? Inspiring? Beautiful beyond compare?” Alistair offered. 

“Well- I- yes?”

Alistair sighed. “She is. She _ really _ is.” 

The redhead gave him a halfhearted smile, curtsied and excused herself. Alistair chuckled to himself and took a sip from his own drink. Now was her chance. She was buzzing with excitement and the strength of the wine as she sidled up beside her husband. 

“Your wife is a lucky woman, Your Majesty. Most men don’t tend to give such emphatic praise of their loved ones,” Attilyn said with a practiced Orlesian accent. During the Blight she would sometimes adopt the accent in jest, but the more she did the more it improved. 

“I’d say I’m the lucky one, though she gets to hear all of my wonderful jokes,” Alistair said with a smile. 

Attilyn smiled back and curtsied. “I’m Lisette.” The lie slid easily off her tongue. 

“Pleasure to meet you.” Alistair looked down at her hand and noticed her wedding band. “Is your husband accompanying you tonight?”

“He’s a busy man, but he managed to steal himself away. And your wife?”

“Away, unfortunately.” He drank deeply from his cup to hide his frown, but Attilyn knew him too well for it to go unnoticed. She knew he was terribly uncomfortable here despite his obvious growth as a ruler. If she wasn’t enjoying her ruse so much she’d tear her mask off and reveal who she was. She could imagine his numerous reactions, but even if she wanted to she couldn’t. She wasn’t even supposed to be here, but she wanted to see him. She had to. 

“I’m sure she misses you.”

“We’re very similar in that regard. I miss her as well.”

Given the look on his face Attilyn thought it best to change the subject. “How are you enjoying the festivities?”

“There’s an impressive assortment of cheeses here, and the music is mostly tolerable.”

Attilyn laughed softly. Maker she’d missed just talking with him. “Only mostly tolerable?”

“Those of us from Ferelden aren’t known for our taste in music, or our taste in general I suppose.”

“Surely that’s only a matter of opinion.”

“I thought all Orlesians turned their noses up at our customs.”

“We miss out on your Mabari because of that.”

Alistair laughed, the sound making Attilyn feel light. “That you do.”

After a few moments of comfortable silence, Attilyn said, “If I may be so bold, would the king of Ferelden do me the honor of a dance?”

“You Orlesians certainly are direct. I’ve had too many women offer to be my consort. I was hoping that telling stories of my wife would dissuade them.”

“I’m only offering a dance. My partner keeps me more than satisfied and I have no wish to steal you away from yours. Especially when she defeated an Archdemon and could make easy work of me.”

“True…”

“Believe me, if you don’t dance with anyone here there will be talk of it for weeks.”

“I have a feeling there will be talk no matter what I do tonight.”

“You know Orlais well.”

Alistair rubbed his chin and emptied his cup. “Alright, you’ve twisted my arm.” He offered his hand to her. “Shall we?”

He was only keeping up appearances and being polite by accepting, nothing more, but Attilyn felt her heart leap in her chest like the day he gave her that rose from Lothering. She took his hand and set her glass down on a table as he lead her down to the dance floor. Attilyn felt as though she were eighteen again as they joined the other couples. When Alistair placed his hand on her waist, her pulse jumped. She hoped her mask covered her blush as the music started and Alistair lead her around the floor. 

“You dance well Your Majesty.” His hand on her waist was supportive and gentle, easing Attilyn to follow his lead. She wanted to melt against him, to feel his chest against hers and to rest her head on his shoulder. He carried her through the dance so gracefully that she felt weightless in his arms. 

“I had a good teacher.”

“Your wife?”

“No. A Qunari I traveled with for a time.”

Attilyn laughed at his lie. She remembered giving Alistair dance lessons by the fire of the campsite along with their other companions. 

“You’re having me on.”

“Not at all, my dear.”

Attilyn started at the endearment, her eyes locking onto his and her grip on his hand tightening. “Forgive me, but I believe you just called me-”

“My dear? Yes, I did. Did you think I wouldn’t recognize my own wife?” Alistair said. He leaned in closer to her until his lips were inches from her ear while still retaining a respectable distance. “I’d know that laugh of yours anywhere, Atti.”

Her nickname nearly made tears come to her eyes. “Did I fool you at all?” Attilyn asked, dropping her accent.

“Mm, a little at the beginning. Your accent has gotten better, my love, but I’ve heard you practicing it.” He looked so smug, but also incandescently happy. 

Attilyn smiled lovingly at him. “Say that again.”

“What?”

“‘My love.’ Please, say it again, Alistair,” she whispered.

“I would never deny you, my love,” he said gently.

Attilyn sighed. “Maker I’d love to kiss you right now, but here…”

“We could always sneak away.”

“I like the way you think.”

“By the way, you look positively stunning tonight.”

“You don’t look so bad yourself, dear.”

Alistair smirked and spun Attilyn in time with the music. She hadn’t smiled so much in weeks, maybe months.

“So how did you manage to sneak away?” Alistair asked. 

“I didn’t so much sneak as announce my plan and allow no arguments.”

“You’re searching for a cure my love, it’s important.”

“I know,” Attilyn said as she cast her eyes down, “but I like to take advantage of opportunities like this if I can. I was waiting to see whether a lead we were looking into had come to fruition when I left so I knew I’d have time to come see you. Maybe that makes me weak, or maybe it makes me a poor leader, but anyone else in my place would take the chance to see their husband if they could.”

“I hope you don’t think I’m not happy you’re here. Believe me, I’m barely resisting the urge to jump for joy; I’m only concerned about what coming here could do to your quest.”

“I _ will _ succeed. Seeing you helps reinvigorate my resolve about that.”

“Does it now? I vaguely recall you mentioning how _ reinvigorating _ I could be,” he said waggling his eyebrows at her. 

Smiling, Attilyn squeezed his hand as the song ended. “Meet me in the south corridor, third room down the hall on the left in ten minutes,” she whispered. She took a step away from him as the people around them shifted, some leaving while new couples melded into the area. “Thank you for the dance, Your Majesty.” Her Orlesian accent was back in place. With a small smile she turned and headed for their rendezvous point. 

Attilyn noticed that she was getting some curious looks as she made her way casually throughout the halls of the palace. She paused now and then to study the artwork on the walls or to sample other finger foods. Now that she’d finally made her move and talked- even danced- with Alistair her nerves had settled down. She was anticipating her chance to be with him away from prying eyes and the Game. 

Navigating the area, Attilyn made it safely to the room she’d picked out. She looked up and down the hallway before pulling her lock picking pins from her hair and kneeling in front of the door. With practiced hands Attilyn picked the door’s lock. She smiled to herself when the lock clicked and the handle gave under her hand. She stuck the pins back into her hair and slipped inside. 

Like every other room of the palace it was overly ornate, but very Orlesian. It appeared to be a sitting room. There were several couches, chairs and tables scattered around the room. Moonlight streamed in through the floor to ceiling windows, their drapes pulled up and tied securely. Portraits of people she didn’t recognize hung on almost every wall save for one which had bookcases lined up neatly. Attilyn drifted over to them on instinct, her fingers brushing against the spines of the books as she studied them.

When she heard footsteps she held her breath hoping it was Alistair and not someone else who’d perhaps followed her without her realizing it. She’d berate herself later if that was the case. If it came to it she could just use the dagger she had hidden under her dress. 

The door opened slowly and Alistair came into view. Attilyn let out her breath and smiled at him as he closed and locked the door behind him. 

“Of course you’re perusing the bookshelf,” Alistair said as he approached. 

“Just like old times.” Attilyn tilted her head curiously at Alistair when he stood in front of her looking like he wanted to say something.

“May I?” he asked, nodding to her mask. 

“Please do,” Attilyn said standing perfectly still with her hands clasped behind her back. 

Alistair reached up and carefully pulled her mask away from her face. His breath left his lungs in a rush when he saw her grey eyes gazing unobstructed back at him. It had been too long since he’d last seen her. Her long lashes fluttered as she blinked up at him, a private smile gracing her features. He set her golden mask down on a nearby table and cradled her face in his hands. She leaned into his touch when he brushed a thumb against her cheek. The look he was giving her was about to make her cry. He seemed to want to say so much to her or to just hold her and feel her strong body against his own.

Seemingly making up his mind about staring at her or doing something else, he pulled her into a searing kiss. Attilyn quickly wrapped her arms around his neck as she kissed him back, reveling in the feeling of his lips against hers. They kissed clumsily, desperately, hands grabbing onto clothes and sliding against exposed skin. Attilyn shivered when his tongue met hers and she walked him back toward the windows. When his back hit the cool glass Alistair chuckled against Attilyn’s mouth. 

“Someone’s eager.”

“You’ve no idea,” Attilyn gasped. She lifted one leg and hooked it around his waist, her knee resting on the glass. When she ground herself against him through their formal wear, he groaned into the smooth skin of her neck. 

“How much time do we have?” he groaned.

“Ten, maybe twenty minutes tops.”

“Best not keep you waiting then.” Alistair kissed her and grabbed her other leg so it joined the one around his waist. He flipped their positions so Attilyn’s back was pressed against the wall next to the window. Attilyn tangled her fingers in his hair and squeezed her legs around him. He pushed her silky dress up so it bunched at her hips, his hands sliding up her thighs. He made a questioning whine when his hand came in contact with something cold and hard. 

“What the…?” Alistair pulled away from Attilyn’s intoxicating kisses and looked down at the knife strapped to his wife’s leg. “Atti, you didn’t,” he chuckled. He pulled the dagger from its place, shaking his head in disbelief as he carefully tossed it onto the nearest chair.

Attilyn laughed, covering her mouth with her hand to help stifle the noise. “I brought it in case I’d have need of it.”

“What were you going to do? Abduct me?” Alistair asked with a sly grin. 

“I thought about it, but that would’ve been too much trouble, and too messy,” Attilyn said cheekily. 

Alistair pressed his forehead to hers until their laughter subsided. It felt so good to laugh with her again. He remembered plenty of nights in her tent at their campsite from when they had been trying to stop the Blight while still managing to lose themselves in one another: laughing, sharing stories, and leaving the weight of their responsibilities behind at the flaps of the tent. With the two of them hiding out in their borrowed sanctuary, it felt like they were back at camp wrapped up with each other and trying to steal kisses or more without disturbing their companions. 

“Dearest,” Attilyn muttered, breaking Alistair out of his thoughts, “where were you?” She gently stroked his cheek and tilted her head at him. 

“Back at camp. In your tent.”

“_ Our _ tent I’d say. This room isn’t quite a tent, but I hope it’ll do.” Attilyn slid her hand down his arm and gently gripped his hand. “Now please, come back to me.” She guided his hand between her legs and smiled when he sighed.

“You planned this whole night didn’t you, you little minx?” Alistair murmured in her ear. 

“More or less.”

“Maker, I love you.”

Attilyn smiled as she leaned in to kiss him. “I love you too.” She smothered anything else he might’ve said with her lips and ground herself against his hand. Alistair buried a hand in her pinned hair and kissed her back urgently. She moaned into his mouth while he teased her clit through her smallclothes with his fingers. In retaliation, Attilyn reached down, roguish fingers nimbly untying his breeches and slipping past his own smallclothes to wrap her fingers around him. 

“A-Atti-” Alistair gasped, his hips jerking as she slowly drew her hand along his cock. His fingers pressed harder against her clit and she bit her lip to stay quiet, her legs starting to quiver.

“Alistair please,” she whined, her grip tightening slightly around him. Alistair pushed her smalls to the side and slid two fingers into her. Her legs tightened around his waist, urging him closer and silently begging for more. He pumped his fingers into her several times and reveled in her furrowed brow and chewed lip. Alistair’s grip on the back of her thigh tightened as he spread her legs more and curled his fingers inside her. Attilyn’s back arched off of the wall and she wrapped an arm around his neck for support as she pumped her hand faster along his cock. Her hips were wriggling against his hand, her nails digging into his shoulder as he coaxed her toward the edge.

“I missed making you squirm,” Alistair said as he rocked his fingers against the spot within Attilyn that made her shudder while rubbing maddening circles on her clit. He bit back a groan when her thumb swiped over the tip of his cock.

“Enough teasing. I need _ you _, Alistair,” Attilyn said in his ear. Her pupils were blown wide and she stared him down hungrily.

Alistair took a half step forward so Attilyn’s back pressed more firmly against the wall and slipped his fingers from her dripping folds. He held her gaze as he raised his fingers to his mouth and sucked them clean. Attilyn whimpered as she watched him before yanking his hair and pulling him into a messy kiss. Her heels dug into his ass, urging him closer. With one hand tangled in his hair and the other wrapped around his hard, throbbing member she guided him to her aching heat. 

With one thrust Alistair sheathed himself fully inside her. He moaned, the wet heat of her surrounding him and pulsing with need nearly overwhelming him.

“Maker Attilyn-”

“Alistair.” He held still with his eyes locked on hers while fighting off the urge to pound into her. Her lips brushed against his, a ghost of a kiss. “Move,” she said desperately.

He had never been good at denying her.

With a slow rock of his hips he pulled almost fully out of her before slamming back into her. She mewled and pressed her face into the crook of his neck as he set a quick, merciless pace. He secured his hands on her thighs and held her between himself and the wall. She rocked her hips against his as she met his rhythm. When he hiked her a little higher up the wall, his cock just brushed the patch of muscles that had Attilyn biting down on Alistair’s shoulder to keep from crying out. Alistair groaned and kept thrusting into her, making sure to hit that spot each time.

He was already close, his thrusts becoming more frenzied as her walls fluttered around him. His hair was falling in front of his eyes and Attilyn’s intricate updo had more flyaways than before. Their panting breaths bled together as the sounds of sex filled the room.

“Alistair I'm- I’m close,” Attilyn gasped, her legs shaking around him. Alistair removed a hand from her thigh and returned it to the bundle of nerves at the apex of her thighs. She threw her head back so fast it almost smacked against the wall. Her eyes were screwed shut and she was biting down hard on her lower lip. “Oh Maker- _ Alistair! _”

“Look at me,” he said as his hips stuttered in their rhythm. Attilyn opened her eyes and raised her head. Her grip around his shoulders tightened and she held his gaze as she came. Her walls clamped down around his cock and her mouth fell open as she moaned his name. She looked stunning in the moonlight streaming in through the windows, her skin practically glowing. Alistair came a moment after, buried to the hilt.

Attilyn relaxed in his arms, her head resting in the crook of his neck and her warm breath fanning over the exposed skin at the base of this throat. Alistair pressed his nose into her hair, breathing her in. They stayed together and let their breathing slow down, both reluctant to separate. 

“You alright?” Alistair asked.

Attilyn lifted her head from his neck, a smile slowly spreading across her face. “Better than alright.”

Alistair chuckled softly and pressed a kiss between her brows.

After a moment Attilyn sighed. “We should get going.”

“Why?” Alistair whined, pressing his face into her neck and peppering soft kisses to her smooth skin.

“Because the king of Ferelden will be missed, if you're not already.”

“Let them miss me.”

“I would love nothing more,” Attilyn said as she gently pulled his head from her neck and cupped his face in her hands. “But we can't.”

Alistair pouted, but she could tell he knew she was right. “I know.” With some careful maneuvering they detangled themselves from one another. Attilyn smoothed the skirt of her dress and adjusted her hair while Alistair retied his breeches.

When she was finished Alistair retrieved her mask off the table he'd set it on. He kissed her gently before raising the mask to her face and putting it in place, and kissed her again once it was secured.

“Go on then. I'll be along after you,” Attilyn said.

“Atti…when will I see you again?”

Attilyn looked down. “I'm not sure. I can't always sneak away like this, but I'll try to visit you if I get the chance, and I'll write to you just as I have been. Believe me, I'm doing everything I can to get home to you as soon as possible.”

“I know.” Alistair stroked her cheek and gave her a tender smile, the one that softened his warm eyes and always made Attilyn return his smile with one of her own. “I wish we had more time.”

“We’ll have all the time in Thedas soon.”

“I look forward to it.” He didn't want to walk away from her, not when he didn't know the next time he'd see her or what state she'd be in. And he had _ really _ missed her. “I love you, Attilyn.”

“I love you too, Alistair.” She gave him one last lingering kiss. When they parted she gently pushed him back toward the door, knowing that if he didn't leave now she wouldn't be able to let him.

He stepped out of the room, gave her that smile again, his eyes shining, and closed the door.

Attilyn felt herself deflate. She wished that she could go back to Denerim with him and sleep in their bed while her Mabari, Torin, snored at their feet. Instead, she had a tent waiting for her back at the Grey Warden encampment. Attilyn sighed deeply and retrieved her knife from where Alistair had tossed it and strapped it back into its place on her leg. 

She took one last look around the room to make sure they hadn’t left any trace behind before leaving the room. Attilyn knew she had already stayed too long at the Winter Palace and that she needed to get back to camp in a timely manner. She went back to the ballroom and headed to the door that would lead to the vestibule. She paused in the doorway when she looked back and noticed Alistair being swarmed once again by several women. 

From where she was standing Attilyn could just hear him making a joke about his disappearance being due to him getting lost trying to find the bathroom. He already had another cup in his hand and was standing by the railing overlooking the dance floor once again. As he took a sip from his drink Attilyn saw him looking around the room, ignoring the women who were trying to get his attention. 

When his eyes landed on her he lowered his glass. Attilyn held his gaze, the pull of it battling against her will to leave. Tears brimmed in her eyes as she nodded to him and gave him a despondent smile. Alistair nodded back to her and Attilyn could tell he was holding back his own tears.

It struck her how easy it would be to turn around, go to his side and take off her mask to the shocked gasps of the guests. They could spend the rest of the night dancing, speaking secretly in hushed whispers, or trying all the different finger foods with weird garnishes that they would mock relentlessly on their way back to Denerim. Then they could spend all night wrapped up in one another while a fire warmed their room and cindered as the sun rose. All Attilyn had to do was go back to him.

She swallowed around the lump in her throat and tore her eyes away from his. With dutiful steps, Attilyn walked out of the ballroom and forced herself not to look back. 


End file.
